The Big Time
by TD Rose
Summary: Harry is ready to enter his 7th and final year at Hogwarts, ready to face whatever Voldemort has in store for him. But something is offered to him, something that he has been dreming about for three years. Will he take it? PLEASE REVIEW
1. The Invitation

Harry sat glumly at his desk, looking blearily out of his bedroom window at the manicured lawns, square houses and over clean cars of Privett Drive. The warm June sun shone through the window and fell in rays across the desk, trying to tempt the seventeen year old to go outside, but Harry wasn't interested. For one thing, the fact that he was entering his final year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry meant that he had a large pile of essays that needed to get done. Second, and perhaps the more pressing reason, he felt gloomy. Although he had only been back with the Dursleys for a week, his separation from the magical world was already starting to gnaw at his spirits. He knew that it couldn't be avoided, knew that Privett Drive was the only thing keeping him safe, but it was still a very hard pill to swallow.

After a few minutes of depressed sitting Harry rose, and thinking vaguely that he might as well do something to occupy his time, wandered over to his trunk and took out his faithful Firebolt, along with the Broomstick Servicing Kit that Hermione had given him for his thirteenth birthday. Sitting lazily on his bed, he began rubbing handle polish onto his broom, as he stared absentmindedly out of his window.

Then, something caught his eye that made him stop in mid-rub. It was an owl, but not Hedwig, she was off hunting. As it drew closer with every second, Harry recognized it as a tawny owl, brown and handsome, with a letter-sized envelope clamped in his beak. Harry opened the window as it landed with a soft thud on his sill, wondering who it was from. The owl was not from Hogwarts, nor was it from Ron or Hermione. Harry took the letter and looked thoughtfully down at it as the bird took flight, noticing, with some curiosity, the strange seal stamped on the back. It showed an outline map of England, with a pair of broomsticks crossed in the forefront. His interest peaked, Harry opened the envelope and removed the letter from inside. He unfolded it, saw the same crest as was on the envelope printed in the corner, and started to read:

Mr. Harry Potter,

On behalf of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, the England National Quidditch Team would like to invite you to the National Team trials. The trials will be held from July 15th to 17th, in preparation for the upcoming World Cup in France. After reports of your many stellar performances during your years attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, we offer you one of the trial births for the position of seeker. We are looking for a new seeker following the retirement of Gerald Whittly, and will be making our decision after the trials mentioned above. Please respond as soon as possible to confirm your attendance.

Yours Sincerely,

Mathias Oaksharp

England National Quidditch Team Captain

Harry looked in disbelief at the letter, having to read it over three times for the information to sink in. At first he thought there must be some mistake, that the owl delivered the letter to the wrong person. He checked the front of the envelope, but it clearly said Harry Potter, and so did the letter. Was this a joke? Maybe Fred and George had decided to play a prank on him by mail? Or could it a ploy by Voldemort to lure him away? It was true that Harry was a fairly good quidditch player, true that he had been responsible for a number of Gryffindor victories, but the National Team? He had watched the Quidditch World Cup, had marvelled at how fast and skilled they were. He couldn't compete with those men and women, he was still in school. Could they be serious? Would Dumbledore even allow him to go?

Then, as if the book that was his memory had flipped open, he remembered the dream that he had been having at the World Cup three summers ago. He had been on his broom, soaring throughout the huge World Cup stadium as Ludo Bagman's voice boomed. "I give you, Potter!" This was his chance to realize that dream, his chance to be famous for something other than that stupid scar! This was his opportunity, and he wasn't going to let it pass him by.


	2. The Response

Harry made up his mind in a matter of seconds. Crossing quickly to his desk, he took out a piece of parchment, an inkbottle and a quill. He loaded his quill and started to write, his hand going as fast as he had ever seen it before. His writing was sloppy, he had forgotten to dot a few of his 'i's, but he didn't care. After two minutes hard work he sat back, rubbing his hand, and read over his note.

I've just been invited to the England Quidditch Team Trials. I want to go, although I probably won't get on the team, but I want to try. I don't know how to get there, but I want my chance. I need advice.

Write back soon,

Harry

Satisfied, he rolled it up and waited for Hedwig to return, which she did a few minutes later. He hurried over to her and bound the scroll to her leg with a length of string from his desk. "Take this to the Headquarters of the Order, and hurry back with an answer," he said, stroking her white feathers lovingly. She gave a soft hoot of comprehension, and then took off, gliding gracefully upward and disappearing with a flash of white.

Harry watched her go for a few seconds and then walked back over to his Firebolt, which he again took hold of and began smearing with handle polish. As he looked down at the sleek shaft and bunched tail twigs of his broom, he envisioned himself weaving around a massive stadium, England banners flapping below him as thousands of screaming spectators watched his hand close in victory around the golden snitch. He did not know how long he sat there with that vision his mind, he was simply happy to have it.

The afternoon passed uneventfully, as Harry sat in waiting for the reply. He had thought for a second of telling the Dursleys his news during dinner, but thought that they would probably go back to their old standby of locking him in the cupboard under the stairs, and decided against it. To Harry's great relief, Hedwig returned later that evening, a rather quick flight considering she had gone to London and back. Harry looked up from reading "Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland" as he heard her familiar beak tap on the window, and he jumped up to let her in. He took the scroll of her leg and, feeling obliged to show gratitude for such a fast delivery, threw her a couple of owl treats before unrolling his letter.

Harry,

Congratulations on being invited to the trials, we're all thrilled for you here and knew that you had it in you. We had actually already been told the news (through connections in the Department of Magical Games & Sports) but were waiting for you to get the letter personally before acting. Dumbledore himself, who stopped in for a bit this afternoon, says he wouldn't want you to miss it for anything, and we have already made arrangements to come and collect you. Charlie Weasley and Tonks will come and get you tomorrow at one o'clock. You'll come here to Grimmauld Place for a few days and then Charlie and Tonks will escort you to the trials, and stay with you there. Dumbledore's already discussed things with the team captain, and he's all for it. Be ready to leave at one o'clock Harry, we can't wait to see you.

Regards,

Prof. Lupin

P.S. Your parents and Sirius would be proud.

The jubilation that Harry felt as he read the last line of Lupin's letter was greater than he had felt for months, and he imagined Sirius' face if he could hear the news. For the rest of the night Harry's head was filled with vivid pictures of him as the English seeker, and although sleep eventually overtook him, the images never left. Harry's bubble of happiness lasted all the way through the next morning, and into lunchtime. Even the furious shouts of Uncle Vernon, upon hearing that he would have a couple of wizard guests shortly after lunch, weren't enough to quell Harry's excitement.

At 12:30, Harry ran upstairs to pack his trunk and get his broom. As he did so, he wondered how Charlie and Tonks were going to get him, remembering Mr. Weasley's failed floo powder experiment that had resulted in a half-destroyed Dursley living room three summers ago. Resigning himself to the 'wait and see policy', he carried his trunk downstairs and set it by the door.

As the clock in the Dursley's kitchen chimed one, there was a soft knock at the door. Uncle Vernon, obviously anticipating the worst, moved like a bull towards the door and pulled it open fast, as if expecting a fight to be waiting on the other side. Harry, who was looking over his uncle's porky shoulder, smiled brightly as he recognized the two faces standing in the doorway. "Hi Tonks, hey Charlie" Harry called He was relieved to see that they were in Muggle clothes.

Tonks, today with spiky bubblegum pink hair, smiled politely at Uncle Vernon. "Hello," Tonks said cheerily. "We've met before, I'm Nym..."

"Take him!" Uncle Vernon interrupted sharply. "Take him, and leave!"

"Righto," Tonks said, undeterred by the rudeness. "Ready Harry?" she asked.

"Yeah," Harry said, taking a few steps forward. "How are we leaving?" he asked.

"Port key," Charlie said, stepping across the threshold and holding up an old toaster. "Leaves in," he checked his watch. "Two minutes. Ready?"

Uncle Vernon retreated down the corridor, where Harry saw his aunt and cousin's frightened faces peering around the living room door. He dragged his trunk forward a few feet, and then arranged himself so that he could have one hand on the toaster and his other on his trunk. For about another minute, the three stood casually around the toaster, as if this was a regular thing to be doing. Then, Charlie looked at his watch and smiled. "Here we go," he said, looking at the other two. "Three...two...one!"

Harry felt a jerk from somewhere behind his navel and his feet left the ground, as he sped through the air. After a few seconds they slowed, and Harry finally felt his feet touch the ground. He opened his eyes and found himself standing by the fireplace of number twelve Grimmauld Place, surrounded by a crowd of his favourite people in the world.


End file.
